


Home

by BakerBitches



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, FTL, Friends to Lovers, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock - Freeform, Teenlock, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakerBitches/pseuds/BakerBitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cheesey little ficlet based off the song "Home" by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros because I am indie trash. Friends to lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

“Sherlock,” John chided, watching as his best friend sat smoking a cigarette in the bedroom window sill. “Honestly, you’re gonna fall. Come in a little bit.”

 

“I’m fine where I am, and besides- do you want to risk your parents smelling the smoke?” Sherlock bounced back after blowing a wide stream into the summer air, and challengingly bent his leg onto the window frame, his other one balancing him.

 

John huffed in annoyance and wished that Sherlock would listen to him for once. Well, technically, he _listened_ to John (something he did for practically no one else), but he hardly ever did what John asked. “They’re not even home.”

 

“Are you implying they’re never coming back?”

 

John glanced back down at the book in his lap he’d been successfully [see:unsuccessfully] reading for the last hour and muttered, “That would be nice. Harry can piss off too. The whole world could go to hell for a while and I wouldn’t mind.”

 

The air was stale with smoke and an unusual dry heat from the season change, and the light was turning a dim blue-ish pink from the sun setting. Sherlock crushed the finished cigarette into the sill and stayed in his makeshift seat, watching as John stood to fiddle with his charging phone, pressing a few buttons and changed the song playing out of the wireless speakers. He’d gotten them for his birthday just a few months earlier from his best friend after complaining about his “shitty phone speakers being nearly blown out” from overuse. John was always listening to some indie music that Sherlock only tolerated because it was the sandy-haired teen’s favourite.

 

Sherlock turned a little to get a better view, and began thinking absently, waiting for another song to begin. A gentle breeze blew at his back and he closed his eyes.

 

“HEY.”

 

The taller boy jumped at the loud stomp-clap-yell that blared out of the speakers with incredible intensity, and he lost his balance. John had turned up the volume. He grasped at the windowed shutters, trying to keep himself from dropping, but his grip slipped and he tumbled out onto the lawn, missing the grass by a yard and instead landing on the pavement. _Fuck._

 

“Shit! Sherlock!” John yelled as he ran to the sill, having seen a little flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see Sherlock fall. Without hesitation John pocketed his phone and climbed onto the frame, jumping down next to his best friend and bracing his knees, toppling onto his side. His ankles were on fire but he leaned over to the curly-haired boy and knelt.

 

“Hey, Sherlock.”

 

“ _Goddamnit!_ ” He replied, rolling onto his side and burying his face into the grass. “ _Fuck,_ ” His elbows were stinging and he could feel blood staining the inside of the back of his dress shirt.

 

“Okay, okay…” John said, standing and turning back to the house, “Just stay there, I’m getting my keys.”

 

“As if I’m going anywhere!” Sherlock hissed back, then added, “Grab my cigarettes too!”

 

Twenty seconds later, John was back outside and starting up his car. As the key turned in the ignition, his phone switched to the bluetooth in the dash and the music began playing out of his car speakers. He left the car and opened the back seat closest to Sherlock, ushering the other teen through it, who awarded him with a groan and a “ _Jesus Christ, John. Be careful! I broke a lumbar vertebrae._ ” To which he replied, “ _No you fucking didn’t, you overdramatic twat. You wouldn’t be walking if you did._ ”

 

“Then why am I getting in your vehicle?!”

 

“ _Because it was probably your coccyx and sit bones!_ ”

 

“The coccyx is a lumbar vertebrae!” Sherlock shouted as John’s driver door slammed shut.

 

“No,” John calmed himself and turned around, backing out of the drive. “Your coccyx is your coccyx,” he spat out and jerkily switched from reverse to drive, ”your sacrum is above your coccyx, your lumbar vertebrae are above your sacrum, and above those are your thoracic then cervical vertebrae!” John blew past a stop sign at the end of his neighbourhood that was rarely put to practical use and continued into town.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat forward sulkily. “ _Just shut up and give me my cigarettes._ ” John dug into his pocket one-handed and tossed the pack behind him to the brooding child. They’d hit a red light and were stopped.

 

John began to giggle.

 

“ _What?_ ” Sherlock hissed, still upset and lighting a cigarette, though he’d had one less than five minutes ago. He was in pain. He deserved one, right?

 

“Just listen.” John replied, shaking his head and laughing, quickly pushing his foot to the gas pedal as the light changed.

 

_Hey!_

 

Sherlock stiffened at the memory of that specific sound jostling him out of the window.

 

_La la la la_

_Take me home_

_Might be I'm coming home._

 

_Jade?_

_Do you remember that day you fell outta my window?_

 

John started laughing again, and Sherlock choked on a bit of smoke he inhaled.

 

_I sure do‒you came jumping out after me._

 

They both giggled again. John tried to keep focus on the road, stifling giggles (and ignoring that Sherlock was smoking in his car).

 

_Well, you fell on the concrete, nearly broke your ass, and you were bleeding all over the place, and I rushed you out to the hospital, you remember that?_

 

Sherlock snorted and let his head fall back onto the short headrest. John was losing his composure in the front seat, face turning red from effort and eyes scrunching as little noises spilled from his clenched mouth.

 

_Yes, I do._

_Well, there's something I never told you about that night._

_What didn't you tell me?_

 

John shifted uncomfortably as his collectiveness returned, the lyrics making him self-conscious. Sherlock knew what he meant when John asked him to listen, right?

 

_While you were sitting in the back seat smoking a cigarette you thought was gonna be your last, I was falling deep, deeply in love with you, and I never told you 'til just now!_

 

Sherlock flicked his smoke out the window and looked in the rearview mirror the same time John did.

 

The music picked up speed again and ended. They spent the rest of their drive in silence, more random indie music playing from John’s stereo.

 

~

 

It was much later when they came back to John’s house. Sherlock didn’t want to go home and deal with his mother’s fussing and his brother’s revealing deductions. Mummy had warned that she would murder him with her bare hands if he started smoking, even if he _had_ fallen out of a window, and Mycroft would take every opportunity to make that happen. Sherlock was perfectly fine (save for a bruised tailbone and the wide scrapes), which would have ensured his punishment.

 

Sherlock laid on his back, a pillow under his bottom and his hands folded on his stomach. He was floating dizzily in and out of comfort and warmness due to the painkillers he was given. John was in the background calling Mummy to tell her that Sherlock was extremely tired and just wanted to crash at his place. The story must have flew over because John was smiling and half-chuckling at something she was saying and bid her goodbye with a laughing “Night, Mrs. Holmes.”

 

He walked back over to his bed and sat the mobile on the shelfed headboard, tapping at Sherlock’s legs so he could sit with them on his lap. Sherlock obeyed the silent command and lifted his legs, attempting to not jostle his coccyx.

 

“I hope you don’t bleed all over my blankets” John commented, leaning his head back onto the wall and glancing at the digital clock on his headboard. _12:37 A.M_. Sherlock’s arms and back were patched up almost four hours before they got the results back from the X-rays. John’s parents called to say that they would be out for the night, as they’d had too much to drink, and John figured that Harry was staying at a friend’s since she still wasn’t home. John reached for his mobile again and turned the volume down on his playlist, then pressed play. He nudged Sherlock.

 

“Mm…..”

 

“Come on, get up or you'll fall asleep. I want to change your bandages before we turn in for the night.”

 

“I can do that myself in an hour or two. I’m more than capable.” Sherlock muttered back moodily, scratching at his bandaged arm. “I’ll set an alarm. We’re still a few hours away from needing to change them.”

 

“Quit.” John commanded and started to rearrange the legs in his lap. “It’s one hour, and I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night- that’s even if you decide to do it, which you probably won’t. Seriously, I don’t want to be responsible for your scars being shittier than they are.”

 

A theatrical sigh came from the horizontal teen and he sat up, wincing a little at his arms supporting his torso. After John collected the clean gauze and ACE bandages, they got up from the bed and went into the bathroom where Sherlock sat on the toilet and the supplied boy on the edge of the tub. John asked Sherlock to remove his shirt so he could get his back first. There was a little discussion about how they would apply the hydrogen peroxide. Sherlock suggested pouring it on.

 

“It will hurt like a bastard,” John managed after a sputter of laughter “And you’ll be soaked.”

 

Sherlock shrugged and kneeled on the edge of the porcelain, hands braced against the opposite side so that his torso was horizontal with the floor of the tub.

 

“Sher-”

 

“Just do it. It can’t be that bad.”

 

But it was, because as soon as the liquid hit his back, he was screaming in pain, the sizzle on his wounds a loud sound in his head, louder than it should have been. He wanted to arch his back or stand up, but he was frozen in pain and fear of disrupting his tailbone, and he was panicking until he felt a soft towel held to his back and a warm hand tugging his shoulder gently. Sherlock’s feet hit the ground and in a second he was sitting back on the toilet. John looked at him with a smug yet warm look.

 

“Oh, shut up.” He managed through his grimace. The pain was subsiding, but he still had his arms to go.

 

“If you let me do it properly this time, it shouldn’t be nearly as bad.” John said slyly as he patted the wet skin down and applied large bandaids to the worst spots where the scrapes were deep and bleeding minutely from aggravation. “Stay there a moment. I’m getting you a shirt and some pyjama bottoms.” The music was soothing Sherlock’s harried mind and he noticed a familiar melody with whistling and he rolled his eyes, huffing a laugh as he undid the ACE wrapping. It seemed that that particular song had set the story in stone for the rest of his day.

 

_Alleyways, and payphone calls_

_I’ve been everywhere with you_

 

John came back with a fistful of clothes. Sherlock took them and pulled the t-shirt he was handed over his head. The shorter boy sat back down and took the bottle in his hand again, tipping it upside down onto the ratty towel he’d used to dry Sherlock off with, then reached for a mottled arm. He leaned forward and Sherlock raised his elbow so John could access the scrapes. He dabbed gently with the towel, his other hand resting on his own knee, barely brushing the other teen’s outer thigh.

 

_Home, let me come home_

_Home is wherever I'm with you_

 

John cut some gauze off the roll and folded it into a rectangle and pressed it to the long scrape, covering it in the stretchy, rough wrapping. He reached for the other arm and Sherlock complied. He repeated the cleaning process and stopped, the two staring at each other for a second, preparing for the rush of the next line in the song.

 

_I was falling deep, deeply in love with you, and I never told you 'til just now!_

 

They both leaned in, and lips met expectantly. The kiss was sweet and short and they met their foreheads together, hands finding one another in Sherlock’s lap. They stayed like that for a few moments, just long enough to bask in the moment of happy surprise. John leaned back and picked up the gauze, cutting a smaller rectangle and applying it. They looked at each other blankly before smiling widely.

 

_Home is when I’m alone with you._

**Author's Note:**

> Worked on by:  
> https://aggressivelytwerkinganderson.tumblr.com
> 
> Edited by:  
> AO3 user smutmuffin
> 
> Remember to send in prompts to either our submit or ask box [leave a * if you want to exchange a private message] at http://bakerbitches.tumblr.com/
> 
> Progress on fics is often documented there as well as whole-hearted fuckery concerning documents or teamspeak shenanigans.


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